


Into That Good Night

by fragrantwoods



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, Community: bsg_kink, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragrantwoods/pseuds/fragrantwoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the bsg-kink prompt of pairing plus kink/word starting with B,S, or G: Lee/Laura, gentle</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into That Good Night

It’s the end of everything. The end of humanity, the end of her. Laura’s cool, calm, making decisions, arrangements, getting the job done…and bottling up her rage.  
  
The cancer. The Cylons. Throw in Richard Adar and drunk drivers for good measure, a bitter, sour cocktail that makes her grit her teeth, makes her glare murderously into the tiny bathroom mirror for a few honest seconds of “Laura” under the Madam President façade.  
  
He’s angry, too, the young handsome captain who’s supporting her in this. There’s an edge to him she’s sure was honed well before the attacks. She wants their anger to meet, with naked skin and musky sweat, all bites and yanks and slaps and thrust. Ten minutes in her cobbled-together “bedroom” or crowded into her head or shoved into a storage locker…she doesn’t care where, just that he come at her hard, grind a climax out of her, frak her mercilessly until she forgets the jagged edges all around them.  
  
She’ll give him the same, bites and twists and fingernails, ripping away whatever it is that makes his jaw clench and his eyes go dark when he talks to his commanding officer.  
  
The moment comes, the offer made, challenge accepted. It’s a grimy corner of some mechanical space that has to do with the running of the ship. He tries to explain where they are and she shushes him. She’ll be dead soon anyway and she’s not going to waste time on Colonial One’s schematics. Not when he’s standing there, hot and masculine and ready for her.  
  
She’s already breathing hard, and starts to gasp out what she wants…then watches, silent, as he carefully folds his uniform tunic inside out and places it on the dusty deck. His smile is encouraging. He guides her down, carefully lays her back, one arm under her. He whispers “You’re amazing” and tells her how green her eyes are. He’s strong and she’s weaker than she was even a month ago and she can’t fight the gentleness of the kisses he gives her, eyelids and temples and the corner of her mouth before he pushes between her lips and it finally feels like a real kiss.

_This may be his last time, too_  she thinks, and once again tells herself not to be selfish. His fingers are light as rain on a spring morning as he unbuttons her blouse, strokes along her stomach, slips under her waistband. His bulk pins her, (he’s heavier than he looks), holds her back from the ripping and grabbing she’s dying to do, and forces her to be as gentle as him. He chuckles at her growl of frustration and mouths her breasts through her bra until her nipples peak into tight buds—even the one she thinks of now as  _the bad one_. Finally,  _finally_ , he shoves the fabric out of the way and gives her the edges of those strong white teeth as he sucks and licks. It’s enough for now; she even gets a sharp bite when she snakes a hand between them and grips his length, squeezing hard for a second before exploring the erection pressing against her.  
  
It gives her hope.  
  
Then he’s sweet Apollo again, calmly stripping them both with a military efficiency, probing her heat, going down on her until she’s wet and ready. She holds his head between her thighs, digging her fingers into his scalp, pretends she’s forcing him to eat her until she comes, deliberately ignoring his willingness to keep going as long as she needs. She’ll bring some roughness to this graceful frak if it’s the last thing she does.  
  
When he enters her, he pauses, takes his time, makes sure she’s okay before he slides all the way in. His smile dimples his cheek. He’s a good lover, he’s considerate, and she bites the edge of her hand as he sets a rocking pace that rubs her clit just right, gets her hips arching under him. He comes with a whispered moan against her ear and she wonders where he learned to frak so quietly. One subtle tilt of her pelvis and he’s gliding his fingers back down, circling and stroking until she comes again.  
  
Somebody’s taught him well. She wonders if whoever it was is still alive.  
  
_You’re amazing_  he tells her again and she considers pointing out he said that already, then refrains. He’s sweet and light and she’s dark and angry; he’s so young and she’s so…not. She decides to let him make the memory he wants, a swept-away tryst in the engine room, a delicious secret love-making. She tells him how good it was, how much she enjoyed it, and her politician’s face is back in place by the time she finishes. He strokes her cheek, and there’s a question in his eyes she steadfastly ignores. She lets herself think about white sheets, pink lingerie, tanned skin. _”We won’t be doing this again_."  
  
This time she doesn’t say it out loud.


End file.
